


Medical Assistance Required

by GeekTriangle



Category: Hawkeye (Comics), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Bucky Barnes Recovering, Bucky is so done, Clint Barton Has Issues, Clint Barton Needs a Hug, Clint is a slight BAMF, Deaf Clint Barton, First Meetings, Gen, Getting Together, Human Disaster Clint Barton, I use both futz and fuck, M/M, Protective Bucky Barnes, but then he was drugged and destroyed the kitchen, drugged!clint, pining for the coffee, predominantly his self-esteem, winterhawk - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-21
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2020-05-13 19:56:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19258114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GeekTriangle/pseuds/GeekTriangle
Summary: Clint didn’t stumble into the elevator. He really didn’t. His foot got caught in the gap between the elevator door and the floor or something. He just had to take a bit of a bigger step than normal to rebalance. That was all, really.ORClint stumbles into the tower after going MIA for three months and newly recovering Bucky is the only one home.





	1. Home sweet home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, all these awesome fics on this site inspired to write my own.  
> The fic isn't Beta read! All mistakes are my own, and knowing my dyslectic-and-normally-dutch-talking-ass those are quite a few.
> 
>  
> 
> This was supposed to go up on Clint's bday, whelp, happy belated bday anyway!

Clint didn’t stumble into the elevator. He really didn’t. His foot got caught in the gap between the elevator door and the floor or something. He just had to take a bit of a bigger step than normal to rebalance. That was all, really.

“Agent Barton.” JARVIS’s tinny voice echoed oddly in the elevator. Maybe it was because he only had one hearing aid.

“You require medical attention.”

Clint straightened against the elevator wall.

“What? No I don’t”

No, he didn’t need medical attention, he didn’t want medical attention. That was the whole reason he was here instead of at SHIELD HQ. He’d thought it was obvious.

“My readings indicate that-”

"Yeah yeah," he said dismissively "it’s fine, leave it, all I need is just a cup of coffee and maybe some cereal. I’ll go to medical first thing in the morning. Just get me up to the common room. It’s fine.” Clint had shaken his head and then immediately regretted it. Was the elevator already moving up? He wasn't sure.

The door closed with a barely audible hiss and with a jolt that really shouldn’t be hurting the elevator definitely started moving. For a moment, neither of them spoke. Man, since when was silence with JARVIS awkward? The other Aveng- wait, oh no.

“Are there any Avengers in the common room?”

“The Avengers are currently at SHIELD in a conference with Director Fury. I will alert them-”

“No don’t!’ Clint answered a bit too frantic for even his own ears, or rather, ear.

“No calling SHIELD, not alerting any Avengers, no telling anybody I’m here JARVIS. I mean it. I’m fine.” He resolutely ignored how out of breath he sounded. He was fine.

The movement of the elevator made already him nauseous. He could only imagine what the rush of medical and a team of worried superheroes would do for his headache. No thank you. Why was he winded again?

“I should remind you that the team is currently trying to locate _you_ , agent Barton, as you have been missing in action for nearly three months.’

Huh?

Had it really been three months? A pang of guilt shot through him. Man, if any of his team was gone for three months he would also want to be notified the second they got back. Or rather, staggered bloody and bruised into the elevator. He stamped the guilt down. What were a few more hours to three months anyway? They’d be far less worried when he managed to clean himself up a bit. Yeah, he was doing them a favour really. And if he wasn’t, then he sure as hell was doing himself a favour. He really wanted a coffee, the last time he’d gotten a cup was three months ago apparently. He sure as hell deserved it now.

He waved vaguely at the roof and kept looking at the floor. The light hurts his eyes.

“Sure, it’s fine JARVIS. I’ll call them first thing in the morning.’

“I-”

“JARVIS,” Clint snapped. “enable privacy protocol.”

Privacy protocol meant that JARVIS wouldn’t be able to snitch on him to the rest of the Avengers, the program also prohibited JARVIS from directly talking to him. Unless he was in immediate danger of dying or somebody else was the program remained active. As JARVIS had now stopped bothering he concluded that he currently wasn’t dying. Sweet.  
He didn’t use the program much, normally when he needed some respite from the rest of the team he’d just go to his place at Bed-Stuy. However he was pretty sure that if Ivan and his tracksuit goons caught him in this condition that they would gladly finish the task that AIM had started. So he’d come to the tower instead. Hadn’t really thought about the other Avengers until JARVIS brought it up. Hmm, that was was there something else he was forgetting? He wasn’t really sure. He had his bow still, so things were probably fine.

 

-o0o-

 

Bucky’s arrival to conscience was slow. Until it suddenly wasn’t. He remained frozen. Through his closed eyelids he saw that the room was now light, but it wasn’t the light that shone through the window it was the yellow of artificial lights. Meaning that Stark’s computer was trying to wake him up. Stevie and he had arranged in the first days of moving here that the computer didn’t wake him with any sounds, it had only cost one-bed frame and a wall full of bullet holes to figure that one out.

He opened his eyes but otherwise did not move.

He had been right, it was still dark outside, but the lights inside his room where on. The little LCD clock at his bedside table told him it was currently 2:31 AM.  
It had been a good night. He’d been surprised by it really, with Steve going away earlier that day. Instead of having an increased amount of anxiety he’d found he suddenly was able to breathe. He’d been allowed to wander the tower for a few weeks now, yet Stevie had always been by his side never leaving him alone for even a second.

First, it had been a reassurance that there was always somebody to take him down when he snapped, then the presence had grown familiar as Captain America turned into Stevie again. And after a short week of that it had become oppressing. Quickly it had become clear that the Bucky he now was wasn’t completely the same Bucky Steve had once lost. He’d see the small frown form and the little shake of his head and it was clear he’d messed up. After the first time he’d noticed it was all he saw.

However tonight he was for the first time, he was completely alone in Avengers tower, or rather, the part that belonged to the Avengers.

“Sergeant Barnes.”

Or, at least how alone you could get with a supercomputer stuck in the ceiling.

“Sergeant Barnes.” The voice -wait no, it had a name, JARVIS?- repeated quite insistently.

It then occurred that the tower could be under attack

He’d shot up, a gun now in his hand and the safety already off.

“Where is HYDRA?” He asked with a voice like sounding like he’d been chewing gravel. He’d really had been deep asleep. Figures that today of all days was when HYDRA was finally coming for him. It made only sense with all the Avengers being away and all-

“The building is secure and there are no weapons necessary. However, there is an incident in the common room that requires your attention."

“An incident?”

“Yes, and it requires your immediate attention.”

If computers could actually feel emotions then Bucky was sure that JARVIS was exasperated, because the voice sure sounded like it. He didn’t lower his gun.

“Is there any danger?”

The voice- _JARVIS_ paused for a second.

“No, not to you. But I advise you to bring the medkit Captain Rogers keeps under his sink.”

What.

Bucky switched the safety on and kicked the white sheets of off him. Making his way to the kitchen he pulled a white tank top over his head. He’d been glad he’d fallen asleep with his sweatpants still on or he’d been now rushing around in his boxers. Even while struggling with the clothing he’d was still talking with JARVIS, the voice now sounding in the living room too.

“What is going on? Why in the hell haven’t you called Steve or even Stark if this is such an emergency.”

“I’m sorry Sergeant Barnes, but because of protocols in place I’m not allowed to contact any other Avengers or any SHIELD affiliated personnel.”

Bucky halted at that.

“I’m not an Avenger.”

“Exactly.”

JARVIS sounded pretty smug.

Okay then.

“You not allowed to tell me what’s going on either then?”

“I’m afraid not, but I assure you that there aren’t any weapons necessary.”

Yeah, easy thing for a robot without any squishy parts to say. He fished the medkit from under the sink and pushed his gun into the back of his pants. Then he strapped some knives on his person for good measure. He grabbed the medkit a little bit more tightly than necessary, suddenly anxious. What was he even doing? What if the computer _had_ been compromised? What if-

He steeled himself and shrugged the nerves off of him. He’d been in the _war_. Whatever it was, it couldn’t be worse than he had already seen. Also, JARVIS wouldn’t have woken him if it wasn’t important or if he couldn’t deal with it. He thinks. Right? He inhaled once deeply through his nostrils.

“Common room, you said?”

 

-o0o-

 

The elevator opened with an audible *ding!* and that was the first thing that was odd because the elevator never dinged, the sounds of the elevator opening being enough to alert anybody of somebody arriving at the floor.

The second thing Bucky noticed was the man currently standing in the dark kitchen watching and _doing nothing_ as the coffee machine, without a carafe or cup placed in it to catch the brew, was spilling coffee all over the kitchen floor. The third thing he noticed was the quiver.

 

_C.F. Barton, alias Hawkeye, archer, Agent of SHIELD clearance level seven, If encounter on mission elimin-_

 

“‘You’re Steve’s missing friend.” He said out loud instead,  shutting out the cold calculating voice of the asset. _Other_ Avengers, JARVIS had said.

“Huh?” the man, Hawkeye, turned slightly towards him.

Now turned to the light that pooled out of the elevator Bucky could see the bruises. His face, his arms, every bit of skin Bucky could see was covered in them. Some were old and yellow, others deep purple and even a few still faint and pink. A butterfly bandage was applied to the gash on the man’s forehead, a cut on his cheek was still bleeding sluggishly. Hawkeye squinted.

“I thought you were Steve’s missing friend?”

And that was… fair. But he hadn’t been missing for a bit now. Steve had caught up with him four months ago, brought him back to the tower a month later. His welcome back present had been the news his other colleague, friend, was now MIA. It was rather cruel actually. Saying that the team was upset with their archer’s disappearance was quite the understatement. Natalie- Natasha, as she now called herself was threatening to pull the archer out of the mission herself if SHIELD wouldn’t pull him out. The level of emotion she had been showing didn’t match with the vague memories he had of the cold-blooded assassin. Still, SHIELD didn’t budge. Apparently Barton had warned SHIELD he would continue the mission without back-up, he saw an in into the operation he had been tracking. Without waiting for confirmation he had dropped comms and the stake-out had suddenly turned into an undercover operation. Not wanting to compromise the archer, SHIELD hadn’t tried pulling him out and because that would be risking the chance to blow his cover. When Natalia had finally found out the team had already lost their archer in the bowels of AIM. Only after a heated debate with an impressively unremarkable man that still raised the Asset’s hackles Natalia had relented. Now, three months later without any sign of the missing agent, the Avengers and SHIELD were discussing how to locate the archer without raising a fuzz. But apparently that wasn’t necessary because Barton had suddenly popped into existence in the Avengers tower.

Barton’s eyes trailed down Bucky’s metal arm but didn't linger on it, only stopping when it arrived at the medkit he was still holding. The dazed look turned angry

“JARVIS you traitor.” Barton hissed.

The murderous look Barton was giving the medkit reminded Bucky to a time long ago when a little Steve would always sneer at the little brown bottle of cough syrup when Bucky brought it out. He’d hated the taste, hated how little it worked, hated that they didn’t really have the money for something better.

Clint turned back to the coffee machine and his eyes grew wide.

“Oh shit.” he cursed seemingly just now noticing the spill. He stepped forward with his arms reaching forward, apparently planning to catch the scalding coffee with his hands instead.

Bucky was next to him before he knew it.

“What the hell are you doing.” He hissed before he dragged Clint away from the catastrophe that had become the kitchen. Clint didn’t struggle and let him be dragged away, to slow to even realize what was happening before he found himself promptly seated on one of the bar stools that surrounded the dinner table. He stared dimly at the metal harm still grasping his wrist.

Buck winced. He quickly withdrew his hand.

“Sorry, I mean…” the words died on his lips.

Clint was staring at him, or rather, his lips.

“Huh?” he blinked, seemingly not at all bothered by being manhandled by the Winter Soldier. Was this guy really a level seven SHIELD agent?

After a second of staring Clint’s eyes trailed back to the coffee machine. He slumped his shoulders.

“Aw… coffee…”

Bucky blinked suddenly felt at a loss. Something wasn’t quite right. _Oh really?_ A sarcastic voice snapped in his mind. What was this guy doing here? Did SHIELD even know their missing agent was currently sitting at the Avenger’s dinner table picking at the bandage that splinted two of his fingers together? Did the other Avengers know? His partner?

“Does SHIELD know you’re here?”

Barton’s attention was immediately on him. For a second the intensity made Bucky appreciate how fitting the name ‘Hawkeye’ had been, but then Barton’s eyes became unfocused again. Bucky’s vision flicked to the blonde’s head. With all the bruises Barton was sporting it wouldn’t be inconceivable if he was suffering from a concussion too.

‘SHIELD…’ Barton mouthed, then shook his head, immediately wincing after. Another indication for concussion then.

“uhhh’ he continued “there was a mission… but there wasn’t any coffee, and Ivan sucks and he probably has some Dracula's watching my door and I don’t want to get beat up”- Bucky actually scoffed at that- “and Coulson always makes a fuzz when I don’t call back, you know’ Clint dragged hand through his dirty hear, messing it up even more.

Bucky didn’t know.

Agitated he looked at the ceiling.

“JARVIS what is going on.”

“I’m sorry Sergeant Barnes but protocols in place indicate I can’t tell you anything pertaining to Agent Barton’s situation.”

“Yeah!” Clint echoed, fist-bumping the air a bit weakly.

Really, blondes.

“What protocols.” Bucky grounded out through clenched teeth.

“Barton currently has enabled the privacy protocol meaning that-”

“Yeah I get the gist, turn it off.” Bucky interrupted with a motion of his hand.

“Only Agent Barton has the authority to disable the privacy protocol. The protocol will also disable when the subject is in mortal danger.”

Bucky pinched the bridge of his nose. He was getting a headache.

“Barton,” he said, enunciating carefully because it seemed the archer had some trouble understanding things.”Why have you enabled the privacy protocol.”

“Because… eh… I don’t wanna talk to people?” Clint looked at him like he was answering a test question.

“Why don’t you- You know what, I’m gonna call Steve.”

“No, wait, James- Bucky? What can I call you anyway? Doesn’t matter- Don’t call Steve, he’s- He’ll just worry and he’ll tell Natasha and oh god Natasha is going to kill me”  He let his head fall into his hands.

Bucky moved to stand right in front of Clint. He noticed that Barton was following his every move through the slits of his fingers. Still lucid enough to that at least.

“Ok Barton,” he said, making sure that Barton was watching him. “You disable the privacy protocol and I won’t call Steve.” Of course, he wouldn’t mind breaking that moment the second it became necessary, but again, he knew what it was like trying to hide from Steve. He could relate.

For a second Barton seemed to weigh if he could believe the stranger that he had met only a few minutes ago. Thinking about it there was no way a secret agent like-

“Yeah, sure okay.”

Bucky fought the urge to slam his metal hand against his forehead. Before he could come up with a more adequate response JARVIS was already speaking.

“Agent Barton suffers from multiple lacerations and hematoma. Dilated pupils indicate that Agent Barton also may be suffering from a concussion. I’m also picking up an unfamiliar compound, he appears to be sedated by it. The drug seems to be increasing in effect since Agent Barton arrived at the tower around twenty minutes ago.”

That didn’t sound great, that didn’t sound great at all. He threw his hands up in the air.

“JARVIS what the hell!? Why didn’t you tell me that he was drugged!”

Clint raised his head at the sudden outburst.

“Oh yeahh, yeah they sprayed me with a thingy when I, when I…” He frowned. “When I…” His eyes fell back on the coffee machine and he made a very undignified sound. Was Barton _whining?_

This was ridiculous. Still, something had happened to Barton tonight and thinking about the playing field SHIELD normally operated in it could be very, very important that Bucky found out what. So he went with it.

“Ok Barton, you tell me what happened tonight and I’ll make you a cup of coffee, how sounds that?” Even to his own ears he sounded patronising. Clint, excited by the prospect of coffee, didn’t seem to care either way.

“Uh, yeah, okay, sure, so like… There was a mission. Yes. Okay a mission with AIM. Went undercover, I think? Don’t think Coulson was happy with that. But, anyway. There was this guy that dropped out of the program? So, guys running the whole shebang were looking for another guinea pig and there I was healthy male right? Perfect in, so I dropped comms and went in.” The more Barton was talking, the more he seemed to get into his own story.

“So, three months, they were doing tests and shit, bla bla bla it was totally boring, did some snooping around, planted some bugs. Nothing happens. But then, a week ago, they brought us back to New York right? Something about timetables? Doesn’t matter, apparently me and some other guys were the teacher’s favourite ‘cus they were gonna knock us up with some super soldier steroids. And, I was, I was like, well, no I don’t want that thank you very much. So, I went out, grabbed some gear out of my stash, went back, blew up the building… and.. and..”

Barton’s eyes grew wide

“Oh my god that is what I forgot. Barnes we have to go.” He stumbled from his chair, only just catching himself on the table and hissing when he bumped his spalked fingers.

Bucky reached out and after shortly hesitating grabbed Barton’, grounding him.

“Wait, what did you forget?”

Barton’s eyes were frantically scanning the room, ignoring the hand on his shoulder he reached behind his back and pulled something off that was strapped to his quiver. With a move the stick unfolded and Barton was suddenly holding a bow.

“Gotta- the serum, they were gonna test it. So, I blew up the compound and took a few samples, and- I think I hid it? Those fuckers sprayed me with something and I was slowing down so, and, they couldn’t get the case back. But Barnes we gotta find it, before they do.”

He was half climbing, half falling from his chair when JARVIS interrupted, startling Bucky.

“Sergeant Barnes, Captain Rogers is contacting the tower, can I put him through?”

The last sentence was obscured by the sound of Clint crashing into the ground, barstool falling on after him.

“...ow...” Clint whined softly from the floor. He started slowly folding on himself, going for a fetus position and Bucky could only watch at the car crash in slow motion that was Clint Barton.

Yeah, no, he was done indulging.

“Put him through and-” Before he could finish Steve’s voice was already sounding loudly through the comms.

“Bucky, JARVIS said you were awake. I know it is a weird question but I need you to look out for Hawkeye. Twenty minutes ago one of his tracker arrows activated so big chance he’s in New York right now.”

Bucky blinked at the form still lying under the bar stool, hugging the not really huggable bow and occasionally letting out small and pathetic sounds.

“Way ahead of you Stevie.”

 

-o0o-

 

The adventure then had ended rather quickly. Steve and Tony went out to the tracker, which they had found under a dumpster attached to a steel briefcase, and the rest of the Avengers had returned to the tower. Bucky had scooped Barton from the ground and when it became clear that Barton wasn’t really interested in walking, had carried him to the tower’s medical. While Clint became more delirious every minute it was quickly concluded that the compound he had been sprayed with was something SHIELD had already encountered before. In the end, all the drug would do was sedate and confuse the target so that they could be more suitable for AIM’s experimenting. When he’d learned about that little Bucky’s veins had burned with icy anger. He’d broken railing he had been gripping.

While the staff had assured him that “Yes, Barton is fine, in the end the compound is harmless. No, there was no way anybody could infiltrate the tower. He really could go back to his quarters now it was fine they would look after Barton.” he still didn’t leave. The knowledge that Barton had nearly shared his fate as unwilling guinea pig combined by the deja vu the sight of the shivering blonde had made it unable to leave.

He was still leaning against the wall, arms crossed over each other and carefully examining the now sleeping man in front of him when Natalia had marched into the room.

If she had been a cat, Bucky would’ve sworn she would’ve bared her teeth at the sight of him and hissed. But she wasn’t a cat. Instead, she gave him a glare could’ve frozen all the seven layers of hell. But Bucky was the Winter Soldier, and he had been frozen enough.

So he looked at her with the mask of indifference the Winter Soldier always carried. They hadn’t moved for a few seconds. Then Bucky had nodded to Barton’s form.

“He fell asleep around thirty minutes ago, they’d said he was gonna be fine.”

A small frown, barely noticeable, had flashed over her features. Then after a second of consideration, she had nodded. That was all the thank he was going to get for standing guard over her partner. While he didn’t show it, he had accepted it gratefully.

She had dragged a chair next to the bed and took her place there. Ignoring him to keep vigil at the archer’s side. So, they’d kept vigil together.

All of the team had come into medical that night. Just to make sure Hawkeye was actually there. Steve had raised an eyebrow at him, still standing motionless leaning against the wall. Bucky had lazily drawn one eyebrow up at him too. Steve had turned to Natalia, and apparently another nod was all the Captain needed because he left the trio alone again.

Only when Barton had started to stir a few hours later did Bucky move.

“...’Tasha?” Barton had groaned. “I think I screwed up.”

If Barton hadn’t turned to the left, to Natasha, he would’ve seen Bucky, now the only thing he saw was the door swinging shut as Bucky disappeared through it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, that was my first posted fic after a two-year leave of absence from writing. I know it ain't much but it would still make my freaking week if y'all would drop a comment!
> 
> Also, if you've noticed any mistakes feel free to point them out!
> 
> Have lovely day <3


	2. Welcome back! Or not

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint wakes up and has some conversations. Bucky is conflicted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oke this story was supposed to be a one-shot. Just a way for me to practice some dialogue and easing my way back into writing. But so many of you asked for a sequel of this I really couldn't say no <3
> 
> Thank you guys so much for all the support you've given me. I was, and still am, blown away!
> 
> And, again, all the mistakes are my own so beware!

So apparently he hadn’t screwed up. _Completely._

  
Because you see, he had gotten the knock-off serum, gathered intel, destroyed the A.I.M. base and had made it out, alive. That had been a pretty good score, he thought. Nobody seemed to agree.  
Well, nobody except for Fury. He seemed to be happy with all the intel. He also suspected that Fury knew that he wouldn’t need to chew him out because it seemed that everybody else had marked today in their calendar as ‘tear-barton-a-new-one-day’.

It had started with Natasha. She had waited all of ten minutes after he woke, making sure he was lucid enough, wearing his aids,  and checking if his injuries weren't bothering him, before she started ranting. Which hadn’t been really fair in his personal opinion. In all those years he could remember quite a few times Natasha had dropped comms to finish an op her own way.

“But never three months without a _single_ message Clint.”

 She was standing a the end of his bed and leaning over the railing - which was broken by the way how the hell did that happen-, making sure that he wouldn’t be able to miss the angry look she gave him.  
He pushed himself into a sitting position and then threw his hands in the air. 

“The opening was right there Nat. How many missions did we go on to check out rumours about super serum knock-offs? And then the one time these hacks actually makes something resembling working and I have to wait for back-up before going in? Yeah, no.”

He was glaring at her, he didn’t see what he’d done wrong when she would’ve done exactly the same. Maybe she would’ve done it without even less consideration than he had. Even so,  she wasn’t impressed.

“Are you actually listening?” she asked, and Clint was again confronted by her ability to make questions sound like threats.

”It’s not that you went in that’s the problem, it’s that you stayed in for _three months_ without letting any of us know if you were still alive.” 

“How the hell would I have gotten to you, not only would it risk my cover but I was fucking stuck Nat, they didn’t keep us caged up but the effect sure as hell was the same.”  They weren't screaming, yet, but it sure as hell was a close thing.

“If can’t get word out to your team” she hissed as she pushed herself from the bed.” then you clearly don’t have the skills to take the op.”

  
Natasha saying that he didn’t have the skills was like a slap in his face. She knew that, he knew that she knew that. He clenched his jaw.

“Screw you.” He said through gritted teeth.

“Don’t need to.” There flashed something dangerous in her eyes. She walked to the door and flicked her hair. “You seem to do that to yourself enough already.” and she was gone.

He watched her go, seething.

“ARGH!” He shouted and buried his head in his hands. He hadn’t imagined their reunion to be this way. Sure, he knew she’d been mad, that had really been out of the question. It only seemed that he had quite underestimated how mad she would be. 

This wasn’t their first fight, hell it was even a long way off of being the worst one too. Still, it made him miserable. Miserable and angry. God, he wanted to punch something. The only problem being that there wasn’t really something to punch and he was still hooked up to an IV. 

In his many, many, many stays at several medicals and hospital Clint had learned quite a lot. He had learned the most about releasing yourself early from medical though. One such lesson was that if you wanted to escape that you first had to check if you could _actually_ _escape_ before pulling out your IV. That way you didn’t have to face the nurse's wrath when she’d find you still in bed, clutching your bleeding hand and looking rather sheepish with the IV now lying useless on the ground. The nurse had called him many unflattering names that day, and Clint had learned his lesson.  
So he checked if he could actually move. He could do that. Then he checked if he could stand. He could do that too, only for about approximately two seconds before the world started spinning.

Right.

And, it wasn’t like he couldn’t manage with a concussion and the after effects of the compound he’d been drugged with. Only, he really didn’t fancy passing out in the hallways and give Natasha a new reason to dress him down again.  
He would stay in medical then it seemed, just for a while until the world would stop spinning if he stood up. Or at least, until the world spun a bit less.

He still wasn’t happy about it.

He still didn’t have anything to punch.

It sucked.

With the fight still fresh in his mind it was impossible to go back to sleep. So he just sat there, staring at the white wall with his arms crossed. He must’ve looked rather childish. It wasn’t like he had anything else to do, like he currently wanted to do something else than to be angry at Nat.

However, he realised that Natasha wasn’t the only one unhappy with him when both Tony _and_ Steve entered.

That wasn’t good.

That wasn’t good at all.

When Tony and Steve decided to stop their arguing and quipping long enough to tag team up it meant the situation was serious. Ah hell, a disappointing look from Steve was punishment enough, but now he had to actually endure that while also at the same time getting in an argument with Tony. It was torture, it violated the Genova convention. He thought it was actual hell. However, the universe didn’t seem to give a shit about what Clint thought lately.

“So, birdbrain, heard you stopped tripping, how’s the headache?” Tony strolled into the room after Steve, who hadn’t said anything in greeting, with an air of feigned indifference he always threw over himself when he was nervous.

“It’s fine, Tony.” wow that response had almost been a reflex.

It was actually Steve that scoffed at that, so he got a glare too. He didn’t seem impressed. For a moment Clint wondered what he looked like, al banged up lying in the hospital bed. When he moved he could feel the bruises, and his face felt the kind of sore that promised it would be brightly coloured with purple and yellow too. 

“It’s not fine.” Steve said, “You were missing for three months.” Steve stood at the end of his bed, hands leaning on the bent railing. Just where Natasha had been standing an hour earlier.

“I’ve been on ops easily triple that length Cap.” He shrugged, ignoring how it pulled at his shoulder.

Steve’s frown deepened a little. Clint was reminded of the way his one of his foster mom had pursed her lips after he had come home late at night with dirt all over his clothes. She'd been allright actually, little stuck up. Barney had gotten him out three days later.

“Last time I heard it wasn’t standard action to go on ops that long without proper preparation.”  

“Well, yeah, improvise and adapt as they say.” Clint was going for indifference, judging from Steve's face, he hadn't quite managed it. Still, he didn't let the mask of the poised Captain slip off his face.

“You were stuck without bac-”

“Last time I checked, Captain” Clint didn’t try to hide his irritation that time. “You weren’t even involved in the op, and while you make decisions when we’re Avening’, you ain’t my fucking handler at SHIELD.”

“I heard that being your SHIELD handler doesn’t really influence how well you take orders, Soldier.” The Captain shot back.

If Clint hadn’t had lost his shame somewhere at the circus he would’ve blushed. So they all knew that he ignored Coulson’s direct order. Again.

“I had it under control it wa-”

“Under control?” and, ah, there it was, Steve losing his cool. The part of his brain that wasn’t involved in the argument wondered if there was an award for driving Steve up the wall. He wondered if he would win it. Then he remembered that Tony existed. Hmm. 

“You entered the tower injured and drugged and if Bucky hadn’t scraped you off of the floor to carry you to medical you still would be lying there.”

And that brought a few memories back. Strong hands lifting him up after the world wouldn’t stop turning, a rough voice, first harsh but then turning softspoken. A shadow leaving the room.

“Wait what,” Clint abruptly remembered, “Bucky? You’ve found him? He’s at the tower?”

Aw, timing, no

“Yeah, the video feed from last night is quite adorable actually,” Tony said, standing up from the chair he had thrown himself in. He was waving one of his Starkpads around. It was playing some video, probably the footage he was talking about. ”You know after JARVIS could enable the cameras again. Because somebody had enabled the privacy protocol.” He stroked his goatee. “Well I wonder why that would be, I mean, how stupid would it be to misuse the privacy protocol when, I don’t know, you were injured after a deep undercover operation and had intel about some super serum cocktail that you had literally ditched in a dumpster.” 

“I was drugged and-”

“Exactly! You know, those are the kinds of scenarios when you shouldn’t be enabling privacy protocol. I made that thing for, I don’t know, lonely nights at your own apartment or something. Not for the stunt you pulled last night.”

Before Clint could respond Steve intervened.

“He’s right Barton. What you did was irresponsible and reckless.” Clint felt like he was watching one of those disciplinary videos for ‘the unruly youth’ Cap had shot a few months back. 

“So what, you want me to say sorry?” He decided to totally ignore the fact that he was now sounding like an unruly youth.

Steve let go of the railing and stood straightened himself all stoic and Captain like.

“What I want is for my team to be responsible and to take care of themselves. What you did last night wasn’t that. It was exactly the opposite at that.”

“Yeah, scaring JARVIS like that is totally not cool tweetiebird.” Despite the nickname Tony didn’t really sound as aloof as he normally did.

The three Avengers glared at each other. Or, Clint got glared at by the two Avengers. After a moment he decided that yeah, he was getting the heck out of here.

“Well, if that’s all.” He not-so-carefully swung his legs over the edge of his bed and then abruptly yanked out his I.V.

Steve moved a step in his direction with a troubled look on his face. 

“Clint! What in gods name are you doing?”

Steve was already standing next to him, just stopping his own hands before they touched him. He was frowning. Clint didn’t know if the frown was an angry or a worried one. He didn’t particularly care either.

Clint scoffed.

“Exactly wait you said you were doing, Cap, taking care of my responsibilities. Now, I know we had a great time bashing me and all my mistakes but I gotta got to SHIELD and debrief. Something about you know, A.I.M.” He hit the ground a little more heavily than he intended but at least the room didn’t start spinning. Score. Apparently somebody had stripped him of his tac gear and pulled him into his purple sweats and hoodie. He wondered were his bow had gone.

“I’m sure SHIELD can send somebody.”  Steve said a little incredulous

“Nope” he insisted. “taking care of my responsibilities.”

Tony rolled his eyes but moved out of his way.

“Don’t bother Cap, there’s no stopping Barton of he wants to be a stubborn ass. Catch”

He tossed Clint the Starkphone he always used when he wasn’t on missions.

“Just make sure you’re home in time for dinner sweetie.”

He caught the phone.

“Go fuck yourself Stark.”

“Clint-” Steve started, sounding somewhere in between worried and exasperated.

The door slammed shut behind him and he buried his hand in the pouch of his hoodie. He ducked his head and ignored the nurse’s “- _mister Barton?”_ as he walked out of medical. Two of his fingers were splinted together. Dang it, whatever A.I.M. had showered him with had made his memories of the last few days spotty.  
It was when around the time that he was at the tower’s garage that he realised that he didn’t have a ride. He wasn’t that kind of person that was above using the public transportation system. Hell, he would even walk. However, he did just escape an A.I.M. compound that had been chilling out a few hours away from the city. It wouldn’t be unimaginable if a few stragglers had gotten away and were now looking for a fight. Give it a few days and all would be fine again, but now it was asking for trouble if he would go wandering the streets alone. To be honest, he kinda was in enough trouble already.  
He could get a cab of course, but then he had to go upstairs again to get his wallet. He really didn’t want to go upstairs to get his wallet.

His thoughts were interrupted by the horn of the purple beetle that was roaring into the garage. It screeched to a halt in front of him. In contrast to the fervour in which it car had been racing about the window rolled down comically slow. Behind her purple-tinted glasses, Kate looked as cool as ever.

“Heard A.I.M. got tired of your yabbing and kicked you out of their frat house.”

Despite everything, Clint couldn’t help but grin.

“No, decided to leave. The snoring of my roomie got real bad.”

Kate raised an eyebrow.

“You’re still deaf, Clint.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He opened the passenger seat door. “Hey, mind giving me a ride?” 

She glanced over to him. 

“You already leaving? I just got here.”

“Not leaving.” Clint defended himself. “I gotta go to SHIELD. What everybody seems to forget is that I am actually doing my _job_.”

“Ouch.” She said turning her eyes back to the road. “Welcome back party wasn’t what you expected?”

Clint huffed. 

“Well, let’s just say it wasn’t a party.”

“Hmmm”

“Hey, Kate.”

“Yeah?”

“How did you know my mission was with A.I.M.?”

“Uh, let’s go with... good intuition?” 

“Hmm”

“Hey, Clint?”

“Yeah?”

“You look like shit.”

Clint smiled as he looked out of the side window. Yeah, Kate was great.

 

-o0o-

 

Kate dropped him off at the SHIELD HQ after she made him promise he would take care of Lucky that week. She was going camping with a couple of friends but after she had heard from  _somewhere_ he had gotten back in the city she had come to check if he still was in one piece before she left.

He’d gotten a few weird looks from a few newbie agents for showing up in his hoodie and sweats but the older, more experienced crew knew better. 

He briefly thought about grabbing a coffee from the cafeteria before going up to find Coulson but then the elevator door opened and the man in question stood before him and that plan went out of the window. 

Years and years and  _years_ of dealing with Coulson had trained him out of wincing at the unimpressed look the older man gave him. Still, he couldn’t help himself but stand a little more at attention. Coulson let his eyes trail over him and his trained eyes would undoubtedly see every bruise and scrape his clothes were hiding. He met Coulson’s eyes and immediately knew that if he thought that his fight with Natasha, Tony and Steve had been bad that this was going to be worse. This was going to be way worse.

He knew better than to do anything else when Coulson turned around and walked away but to follow.

 

-o0o-

 

Bucky could hear Steve enter the gym. The heavy footsteps of him were easy to recognise. The tired sigh that followed even more so. Bucky paused his boxing briefly to glance at Steve. Bucky had learned these past few weeks that Steve went to the gym to train a bit later in the day. Normally losing enough of his energy in his morning run. However, this day he had skipped it to check on up on the archer.

Judging by the sigh, it hadn’t gone well. Bucky turned back to the boxing bag and finished his rep. Only when Barton was crawling back to consciousness had he realised that he had no reason to still be standing watch at his bedside. Natalia was perfectly capable to watch over Hawkeye. He didn’t even know the guy. All he knew was that Bucky wouldn’t really appreciate it if strangers were gawking at him while he was still half delirious from whatever drug the guy had inhaled. That was the reason he had left. 

Also, he hadn’t known what to hell to say.

Going a night with little sleep was nothing new for him. Nightmares really left him alone in the night. The bastardized super serum made sure he didn’t need as much sleep as other people did, and he had gotten a few hours in last night before JARVIS had woken him.  So after he had not _fled from_ medical he had gone to Steve’s and he shared apartment and taken a long shower. The cold woke him up and after a night of doing nothing but standing still he found himself itching with energy. He’d gone to the gym and was now beating up Steve’s punching bags.   
He’d realised that he preferred fighting people instead of bags.  
There was no way he was fighting people anytime soon, maybe, ever.

“You’re gonna need to wrap your hands if you’re going to keep doing that.”

Steve was standing a few feet away watching him as he finished up wrapping up his own hands.

Bucky turned to him slowly as he raised an eyebrow. His arm softly whirred as it recalibrated.

“Don’t think this one needs wrapping Steve.”

Steve’s eyes shortly flicked to his arm. He was doing better, really. He had stopped visibly wincing every time somebody mentioned the arm. A dark cloud still flitted over his features though. It wasn’t gone fast enough for Bucky not to notice. But Steve wasn’t Steve if he wasn’t stubborn.

“You’re other hand still needs wrapping then.” He insisted, hardheaded as ever.

Bucky rolled his eyes and took a step backwards, motioning towards the punching bag with a little bow.

“She’s all yours.”

For a moment it looked like Steve was going to ask something else but then he nodded and took the place Bucky just vacated. Bucky crossed his arms and watched. This is what they did these days, just, hanging around in each other’s periphery.

He watched as Steve did his set of reps. The muscles tensed just before he struck the bag. The way he adjusted his weight as the bag swung to his way again just before his fist connected again. The too loud noise every time another punch hit its mark. Most days Bucky still had problems remembering but even through the echoes of his memory, he knew that something wasn’t completely right. Steve wasn't the little blonde guy that jumped around in his memory, all beat up and scraped from fights he couldn't win, and at the same time, he was.

Steve punched a little harder this set and then paused to wipe his brow. He glanced over to Bucky again.

“Did you eat breakfast today Buck?”

Bucky snorted

“Did you eat breakfast?”

Steve looked a little surprised by the question. The tiny smile that followed was quite sheepish.

“No.”

What a dork. He rolled his eyes and went to grab two water bottles. They could at least drink, right? Reaching to the waters he noticed his hand was scuffed. Nothing his enhanced healing wouldn’t handle in a few hours. Still, seemed that Stevie had been speaking some truth after all. He hadn't noticed the pain while punching, but now he could feel the throbbing. Hmm. No way he was giving Stevie the satisfaction of being right though. Not yet, at least. He turned back to the man in question.

“You also didn’t go running, why?”

Steve caught the bottle he threw at him. He paused a bit before he answered, fiddling with the bottle. He came to stand next to Bucky.

“Tony asked me this morning to look over some footage JARVIS took of last night of you and Clint. Then we went to Clint to get the story and when we were done it was already too late to go running without a crowd watching.”

Bucky frowned.

“What about the story?”

“Huh?”

“The story you went to Barton for. What wasn’t clear?” He very carefully kept his voice flat.

“Well,” Steve sighed and then ran his hand over his face. “It wasn’t per se the story, it was more that he handled irresponsibly. Hell, Buck what would’ve happened if you weren’t there to pick him off of the floor?”

Bucky’s frown deepened.

“But I was there.”

“Well, yeah..” Steve let the sentence hang in the air.

“So you didn’t get the story, you went to chew him out.”

This time it was Steve’s turn to frown. He straightened himself, even puffing out his chest a little

“No without reason, what he did was-”

“They told me he was drugged.” 

“And it wasn’t the first time he was drugged. He should’ve known better, not to say that the way he handled the mission so recklessly.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes ever so slightly. That sounded quite unfair really. And also- wait, no. He forced himself to relax, deciding to let go of the matter. What was it to Bucky how Steve handled his team? But, that didn’t quite sit right either. He shrugged a bit as he unscrewed the bottle cap and looked over to Steve.

“Reminds me of another punk who always was fighting recklessly.”

As Steve started sputtering he took a large swig of water to hide the smirk on his lips.

 

-o0o-

 

When Clint stepped out of the SHIELD building he was honestly surprised some giant behemoth wasn’t flying around in the dusking New York skyline because generally when Bartons were having bad days they only tended to get worse. 

The conversation with Phil hadn’t been bad. It had been a goddamn disaster. It had been a fight worthy of getting into their top ten fights, maybe even five. In the end, Phil had put him on indefinite medical suspension, which was bullshit. Especially the indefinite part, which was just some excuse to twist the suspension into punishment without leaving a paper trail. Because, in the end, Clint had delivered. The intel he had gathered in his three months undercover had opened the door to many other A.I.M. facilities. Already SHIELD was setting up other undercover operations and even a strike team to take down the A.I.M. lab that had managed to nestle in the city itself. It had also meant that after his fight with Coulson, Clint had spent the rest of the day locked up at HQ briefing other teams and writing out reports. When he had been done the day had already passed and his headache had returned with a vengeance. He was hurting, tired, and done. All he now wanted to do was get to his bed-stuy apartment, pick Lucky up from Simone, order some pizza, and watch some Dog Cops. 

It was then when he saw the expensive looking sports car parked outside of the perimeter. SHIELD didn’t do expensive cars. They did inconspicuous, they did slightly creepy black cars stalking around the streets, they did kiddy kidnapping vans. They didn’t do expensive sports cars. To be honest there was only one guy Clint knew that did expensive sports cars and- Aw, _no._

A pudgy looking man stepped out of the car and Clint recognised him as Stark’s chauffeur, bodyguard, person? Friend? Paid friend? He didn’t know.

“Hawkeye?” the guy - _what was his name again?_ \- called through the wire fence. Clint sauntered over.

“You know, last time I checked we all had these cool phones Stark insisted we carry around all the time so that we can contact each other all that, eliminates the middle man."

Happy - because that was his name as the little ID badge helpfully reminded him - shrugged.

“He didn’t seem to think you’d pick-up.”

He was right, Clint wouldn’t have. Unless it was his Avenger's pager alert of course. He would always answer that 

“Right then, what’s the message that’s so important but also not so important?”

“Oh there is no message, I’m just here to pick you up and take you back to the tower.”

“Well, tell Tony thanks but no thanks. I have a perfectly fine tower where he can find me if there is anything real important though.”

“Ah.” Happy fumbled with his pockets and pulled out an honest to god _note_. “He said you might say that. So he told me to tell you that ‘ _I will putt on the suit and drag him out of that beatdown dump of bricks he calls his apartment by his goddamn toes and then fly his stubborn ass to the tower myself is he isn’t here by tonight’._ ”

Clint was very, very, very tempted to just ignore Tony and go to his apartment anyway. He had _plans_. However, he knew that if anybody would make good on that threat than it would be Tony futzing Stark. If it could be helped he’d like to avoid any more situations where his tenants were witness to situations where he got his ass handed to him. Again.

Goddamn Stark and his intervening.

“Fine.” The word sounding more like a curse than a sign of agreement. "I’ll go back to the tower, but we first got to go to Bed-Stuy anyway. I have to pick something up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter! Of course, no Bucky/Clint action this chapter, but that is going to change in the following chapters I promise.  
> If we're going to write a story, we're going to do it right
> 
> Again, thank you guys so much for supporting me it means the world. Already this summer is going down as one of my better ones!
> 
> I thrive on comments and kudos and am apparently not above begging for them
> 
> Cheers guys <3


	3. Something still missing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint has another not so fantastic day. Bucky's days are also not so fantastic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey folks!  
> Oh my god your continued support is _amazing_. I had never imagined this to get so popular or you guys being so freaking lovely. You are also with so many!!!! You guys are the real hero.  
> Here's the next chapter! Again, this is sadly un-betad so you find a error or something let me know and I'll fix it <3
> 
> Hope you guys enjoy!!

With no small amount of glee Clint looked at the mess Lucky had made of the car. The temperature had skyrocketed in the city the time he had been away, meaning that Lucky had been shedding like crazy. It was a little sad that Stark would never even know about the glorious amount of golden hair that now decorated the interior of one of his many sports cars. His employees would probably just get the car cleaned without bothering the big boss about it.

Eh. Still, it felt good, even if he and the poor sod cleaning it were the only one to know.

Happy hadn’t been happy -heh- when he had returned from his Bed-Stuy tower with a golden bag of fur bouncing at his heels. 

“What, no no no no no, you aren’t getting that dog in the _car_ , are you? _._ ”

“Dog and I are a package deal. Of course, if you don’t want to I can always stay here-”

Happy had glowered as he interrupted.

“You know what, fine, take the dog. But you’re the one telling the boss.”

Like hell he was.

“Thanks for the ride!” He gave the car a lazy two finger salute and Happy honked at him while he drove away. 

“Good boy, Lucky.” He said with a grin, scratching the mutt behind his ear. Lucky gave him a lazy grin back and wagged his tail a little.

He hitched the messenger bag filled with dog stuff an probably a shirt or something a little higher before strolling to the elevator. Lucky ambling behind him, only a bit distracted by the smells of the sleek garage. It probably didn’t see many other animals roaming around. Maybe some rats. He was then amused by the image of one of Tony’s robots chasing around rats all the way through the big garage. He scratched his jaw. Heh, Maybe that scenario was worth catching a couple of rats for. 

As the elevator started to move JARVIS started to speak.

“Welcome back agent Barton. Captain Rogers has asked me to tell you that there is dinner standing ready for you in the common room.”

That was just Captain speak for ‘I know you’re here and you better make you better drag your ass up here so I can bother you with a million questions and look at like you just disappointed all of America because you didn’t eat your veggies..’

“Thanks, JARVIS. I already ate.”

He hadn’t, but he was pretty sure he still had some frozen pizza in the tower apartment. It wasn’t a Clint Barton homestead if there wasn’t some half bad pizza in the freezer.

“Want some pizza too, Lucky?”

He interpreted the enthusiastic bark as a yes.

The dog had spoken. Pizza it was.

 

He heated some half-bad pizza, sharing maybe a bit too much with Lucky, and went straight to sleep, not even bothering to change out of his hoodie and sweats. Finally, the whole day and past three months caught up with him. He started his morning drinking a pot of coffee and having some cereal, without milk, because whatever milk had been left in the fridge had been so colonized it was already declaring independence. Then, he started to fiddle with JARVIS’s control panel that was installed next to his door.  He set JARVIS to it’s lowest functionality. (It wasn’t hard, he’d seen Stark do it once while he had been looking over his shoulder, and despite what everybody thought, Clint could handle some basic tools. He still made most of his arrows himself, after all.) JARVIS wouldn’t mind, he hoped. Now if anybody wanted to talk to him or relay a message they actually would have to come to his room. Maybe that would discourage them a little. 

 

After that he spent his time catching up on the Great British Bake-off. Half the season had run when he’d been away, and maybe that had been the biggest tragedy of all. Halfway into his marathon, Lucky buried his wet nose in his neck, signalling quite effectively it was time for a walk. He spent twenty minutes looking for his shoes, not fancying the heavy combat boots he wore on ops but for the life of him not being able to find his purple converse. He found them under the couch, together with his half disassembled crossbow. So that is where that thing had gone, nice. 

When he opened the door, Lucky darting out past him, he was greeted by a bill of a car cleaning service on his doormat, the frowny face that was drawn on it staring disapprovingly at him. Without bothering to pick it up he nudged it with the tip of his shoe under the cabinet that stood next to his door, never to be seen again.

Yeah, Clint may now be rich but Tony was always going to be richer.

 

He was grateful that the way the tower was laid out he didn’t have to go through any common areas to go downstairs. He shared the floor with Nat, but she didn’t boobytrap him in the hall. Didn’t stop him from hurrying along though.

He took Lucky to a little park close the tower, one he knew had loads of camera’s hanging around because he was sure Tony had JARVIS. monitor him the moment he set foot out of the tower. There he spent his time bouncing a tennis ball around against the trees, hitting four or five of them before the ball landed on either a bit of protruding grass or some trash. Lucky wasn’t impressed, so he spent most of the time having to retrieve his own ball. Useless mutt. He bought him a small bagel to share anyway.

Not soon after that he returned back to the tower. Although he would admit it to nobody, after the little walk he was exhausted all over again. The painkillers they had hooked him up the day before had now completely left his system and it left his muscles aching and sore. He briefly touched his bruised chin. 

Sometimes it sucked being the only non-super on the team.

 

Apparently everybody had gotten the memo that he wanted to be alone because except the bill at his doorstep nobody reached out to him. JARVIS was silent as he rode the elevator up. He was half expecting to find Natasha sprawled on his couch, drinking a coffee that certainly wasn’t made from the cheap beans he always used, and watching NatGeo or something stupid. He didn’t quite know how he felt when he found the apartment empty. Maybe she was still angry, maybe she was giving him the space he had been hinting at wanting. For the first time since he came back to the tower, he couldn’t deny the uneasy feeling that was building in his stomach. The op had been difficult, it had been lonely and in the end, it had gone nearly tits up. He _actually_ could’ve used some backup, hell maybe even a whole extraction team if they were at it. But, he hadn’t been able to make contact SHIELD in time before the whole experiment was starting. Without an extraction team backing him up on his impromptu destruction mission, he had become stuck in a brawl with the goons. He’d gotten beat, drugged and lost before he could gather enough of to get him, and the serum he’d snagged, out of and away from the compound. Not that he could remember much about what had happened after he’d gotten out, or, like, right before that had all happened. Hell, he didn’t even know how he had gotten to Manhatten. That had been fun explaining to Coulson. 

Maybe Natasha _had_ been right. Maybe he _wasn’t_ good enough.

The thought left a bitter taste in his mouth. Oh man, this sucked. Lucky went straight to the water bowl, getting everything around it wet in the progress. The squirrels in the park had been a hell of a lot more entertaining than Clint and his bowl. Well, at least the dog was happy being back at the tower. He himself felt like shit, maybe even more than when he had woken in medical. God, he hated fighting, especially with his friends. Just sucked his friends were also his colleagues, he guessed. And his boss. Bosses, actually. 

He dropped the keys in the bowl designed for that purpose placed on the cabinet and went to fix a pot of coffee, stepping over a pile of clothes and two chewed up pizza boxes on the way. Maybe he should try and find Cap, have a conversation with him. Not that it had gone well yesterday. It was just, now he was finally home after spending three months hanging out with half-insane guinea pigs and even more crazy scientists he just wanted to spent his time relaxing, and instead he spent his time fighting with the people he had missed the most.  

However, talking like adults wasn’t Clint’s style. No, how he fixed fights was moping for a few hours and then ignoring that the whole thing had happened. Just, show up some for breakfast, eat some froot loops and act normal. If it had been a bad fight, moving far away and _then_ ignoring that the whole thing had happened. If neither of that worked; a physical fight went a hell of a way solving his problems too. Some of the time.

But, he had tried the first tactic with Cap once, and man, had that breakfast been awkward. 

“Urgh…” he buried his hands in his hair and tipped his head backwards, bumping it with a soft ‘thud’ against a kitchen cabinet. He closed his eyes for a minute, just focusing on the sound of the churning coffee and Lucky’s huffing as he settled on the couch. It worked, his headache became a bit less oppressive. 

What he needed was to clear his mind. What he needed was getting a few hours in at the range, pulled shoulder be damned, and-

Wait. He opened his eyes and scanned his apartment. 

_Where the fuck was his bow._

“Stupid, futzin-” Lucky perked his ears at his cursing as he stamped towards his closet. He remembered thinking about the bow while having the argument with Steve, too caught up to properly care. If he lost the damned thing he was going to be mad. For three months he’d managed to haul the thing around and hide it even undercover at A.I.M and now, he lost it? No, no no no.

The cabinet door slammed against the wall and he started pulling out random boxes, most of them filled with arrows and other junk, probably Christmas decorations. He dumped them unceremoniously on the floor behind him before continuing to scour through the closet. He’d swore he tossed the stupid tablet in here when Stark had given it to hem. - _Thanks, Tony but when am I going to use this? I'm never going to lose my bow_ \- Ha ha stupid him, because here he was, having lost his bow. 

With no small amount of relief, he finally found the sleek little tablet, hidden half behind another box, this one filled with books or something. He really hoped this one also ran on those weirdly overpowered batteries Stark insisted sticking in everything. Apparently, it did, because it powered up with no problem. 

The tablet was coded to locate the tracking chip Tony had installed in his bow. If it was anywhere on the continent, this thing would find it. 

“Come on, come on, come on…” the thing glowed blue - _blue blue cold blue_ \- and then an image exploded outwards. In surprise, he nearly dropped the tablet.

“Ah fu-”

The image changed, a map flying around in his room and then zooming in on New York. The map flipped around and projected itself on the floor, still zooming in, before turning 3D. Suddenly the Avengers tower was erected in front of him and a red dot was softly blinking on and off in one of the floors. 

Score.

Okay sometimes working with this crazy team had its disadvantages, like, he was pretty sure somebody was stealing his cereal. And, sometimes life as a superspy was difficult, most of the times there wasn’t any coffee on the ops SHIELD sent him on, but the tech he got to work with? That always remained totally awesome.

His bow had found its way back with him to the tower. He’d just had to retrieve it from wherever it was and he could blow off some steam of at the range. With a tentative motion of his hand, he zoomed in. Apparently his bow was at.. Steve’s floor? what- why was his bow at Steve’s floor? Why wasn’t it stored at the range? Or, even better yet, at his own damn floor? Oh god if Steve had confiscated the thing as part of his ‘indefinite medical suspension’ he had a big storm coming. The fight they had yesterday morning was going to be a mere squabble in comparison by the argument they were going to have over the bow. He didn’t have to use his right arm to draw his bow, he was ambidextrous thank-you-very-much.

With a flick of his wrist the hologram was gone and he fished his phone out of his pocket. He went through his contacts, stopping at HAL 9001, and sent JARVIS a message.

_CFB: whre is steve ?_

_Hal 9001: Good evening agent Barton. Captain Rogers’ location is currently classified under code 19895124. Do you wish to access his location?_

_CFB: Np thx J_

He’d recognised the code. It meant that Cap was on a mission for SHIELD. That made this all so much easier. 

Lucky was still laying on the couch, chewing on something he probably shouldn’t be chewing on.

“Back in a bit boy. Don’t get into the trash.”

He popped off the ever unscrewed vent in the kitchen and hauled himself up. He didn’t need Steve to be actually home to retrieve his bow, he was a superspy after all. 

 

-o0o-

 

_yesterday..._

 

The dinner was… awkward.

Well, most dinners Bucky attended had been awkward. Maybe it had had something to do with the fact that he had killed the host’s parents, who knew? 

Stark had known before he himself had remembered. However, the second he had stared Stark in the face, he’d remembered. Remembered to much. The man standing in front of a flying car, then the same covered in oil and dirt and raving like a madman about some upgrades he had designed to nobody. Then, the sound of a shot trough a silence followed by a crash. The smell of burned gasoline. The man, now older and more stern, crawling on the tarmac, chest crushed but still breathing, until Bucky made sure he wasn't anymore. The sound of the woman's chocking.

They had been at Stark tower, Steve finally having convinced him, and they were standing in his lab. Stark had been working on something, hunched over his desk and mumblin seemingly to himself when he had turned, still looking at the thing he had been working on -an arrow he now noticed-

“Hey Cap, you might want to call that new friend Sam of yo-”

He had looked up and noticed Steve wasn’t alone and froze.

Bucky looked into that face and the memories had flooded back. 

“I’m sorry” he simply said, knowing that it wasn’t enough, that nothing would ever be enough.

“Buck it wasn’t your fault. It was all HYDRA” Steve had said in such a Captain America voice that back in the day it had made every soldier in a square mile spontaneously salute.

Stark’s gaze had flicked to him, then to Steve, and then it slowly trailed back to the arrow he was holding. An emotion Bucky couldn’t quite place flashed over Stark’s face, then he had schooled them into a cool mask, clenching the arrow so tight his fingers turned white. He hadn’t looked at them anymore, turning back to his working station as he spoke.

“We are having this conversation _later_. Barton is missing.”

Steve’s hand fell from his shoulder.

“What?”

And with that, Bucky was forgotten. Or, at least, ignored. Not that he had complained. It made it easier to keep to himself. Apparently, he wouldn’t be locked-up. Not yet at least. Whatever Steve was doing, SHIELD seemed to back him up, for whatever reason. It meant that Bucky, for now, was staying at the tower, trying very hard to ignore the urge to smash through the nearest window and run off again. Instead, he watched from a distance mostly keeping to his room, occasionally sneaking out at night to explore. In the weeks that followed Steve had never really let him out of sight, he had started to drag him to the common rooms even when it was day. It was inevitable then that he ran into the other of Stevie’s team. Natasha had watched him cooly, and Bucky had stared right back. His eyes had trailed doctor Banner’s form as the man was mumbling in himself as he wandered through the kitchen, fixing himself a cup of tea before leaving, seemingly without knowing somebody else had been in the kitchen at all. In the first few weeks he didn’t see Stark, and then all of a sudden the guy was there again, talking too much and too fast, seemingly not caring if nobody was listening. It reminded him much of the other man. It set Bucky on edge.

Sam also came by often.

Sam was still a dick.

He also got him a therapist. And, at first, the idea had been laughable. There was no fixing _this_. Not even Steve’s thick-headedness could change that.

“Well,” Sam had shrugged. “It’s not like you’re busy doing anything else.”

And.... well he had been right of course. Bucky wasn’t busy doing anything else. So he grabbed the stupid leaflet and left the room before Sam could get a smug look on his face.

After all, what was the harm in seeing somebody? It wasn’t like he _had_ to talk. And maybe, maybe there was a small part that still clung to that inconceivable notion that things _could_ get better. As small as that notion may be.

So, that was his life now. Exercise, Steve, watching other people, therapy twice a week. It would do, for him at least, apparently, though, it wouldn't do for Stevie.

No, because _Steve_ wanted to turn the ‘watching other people’ on his list into ‘interacting with other people; (and no grunting at Sam doesn’t count).

So that is how Bucky found himself planted at the dinner table, glaring at his plate Chinese, Steve sitting to his right, occasionally shooting a worried glance to him, and Sam to his right, looking like ha hadn't had a care in the world and eating from his container with actual chop-sticks.

“You know, it is considered bad manners, wearing a cap at the dinner table.” He eventually says to Bucky.

Bucky narrowed his eyes.

“You are eating straight out of the container.”

“I’m eating straight out of _my_ container, unless you want to burn your tongue on these peppers.”

“The pepper that you threw in there yourself, you mean?”

“Ugh, Steve, your kids are fighting again.”  Stark didn’t look up from his tablet as he practically threw himself in the chair next to Steve. Under the table, Bucky's metal fist clenched.

“They’re not my kids, Tony.” Steve frowned.

“Yeah, one day you’ll stop lying to yourself buddy.” Tony sighed.

“That’s gonna be on the same day you realise gold is a really tacky colour for a millionaire?” Sam shot back easily

Tony gasped, to loud to be serious.

“Oke first, it’s _a billionaire._ Secondly, it’s red _and_ gold. Third, is this how you repay me for housing you?”

Sam chuckled, leaning back in his chair.

“You know I don’t actually live here, right?”

“You don’t?” Stark frowned “Why don’t you yet? What’s your favourite colour?”

“Tony, though the offer is nice, I’m can’t possibly move in. I still have my own place.”

“Yeah, and you know what I have? Seventy-three screwdrivers apparently. DUM-E collected them all after I told him to get me one, _one,_ I even said. Stupid bot dropped them all at the same time on my desk. Had clean the mess before I could continue work. It takes way to long to find a place for seventy-three screwdrivers, let me tell you that.” 

“And how is that relevant?” Sam asked.

“Oh you know, since you were saying irrelevant things I thought I’d join you.”

“Me having a house is not irrelevant-”

“Why so? Barton has his own place, if you can call the Jenga tower his lives in a place at least.”

“Speaking about Clint.” Steve intervened before the debate could turn into something a bit more heated. He turned to Stark. “I thought you said he was coming back to the tower.”

“What? Oh yeah sure sure, I sent Happy to retrieve him from SHIELD, and tweetie is probably still limping enough that he can’t outrun a car so he’ll be fine. But you know, if you wanted to apologize to him you should’ve just  ordered pizza.” He finished as he made a face to the takeout. 

“Why would you need to apologize to Clint?”

Of course, that was the moment Natalia entered. She was wearing her Black Widow suit, the Widow Bites catching glowing in a soft blue. So crossed her arms, an unimpressed look on her face. As men at the table turned to look at her she cocked her head ever so slightly.

“Steve started it.” Tony immediately said, throwing his hands in the air, tablet loudly clattering on the table.

“Tony.” Steve hissed, and Bucky was reminded to the times he had once physically dragged Stevie to some lady that had been staring at their table, and Stevie had hissed his name the exact same way.

“Didn’t you show Cap the video Tony?” Sam said in a tone that was too innocent and told everybody he was perfectly aware of what he was doing.

“Oke, scrap the plan. Sam I don’t need to know your favourite colour you’re not invited anymore”

“Hey, I’m just telling the truth man.”

“What video?" Natasha asked, her voice a few degrees colder than before. Tony and Steve looked at each other. However, before either of them answered Natasha's wrist beeped. She frowned, momentarily distracted as a tiny hologram popped from her wrist. She huffed and looked up.

“Whatever it is you idiots did, Cap can tell it on the way. We have a mission. Clint’s intel included info over a branch of A.I.M. that’s been posing as a homeless shelter right here in New York. Fury asked me to take it down, quick and _discrete._ You up for it?”

“Uhhh.” Steve glanced at Bucky.

Bucky simply raised an eyebrow, laying his hand on the table. 

“You do realise I am able to be on my own for a few a day, right?”

Tony perked up

“So that is what your voice sounds like!”

“Tony.” Steve said disapprovingly, using the same tone you might use when scolding a dog for chewing up your Sunday shoes.

“What?! isn’t my fault that the guy lives here for three months and the only thing I hear are grunts or huffs.”

Bucky cast down his eyes and clenched his jaw. Stark was right. He rarely, if ever, talked when Stark was around. It was bad enough that he was living in the guy’s tower. He didn’t think he would appreciate a constant reminder too. So, whenever the scientist was around, Bucky just… didn’t talk. 

“Tony, behave." Natasha said. "Steve, we’re leaving in fifteen. Sam, you want in?”

“Sure.” The guy said already moving to stand up, like he had been asked if he wanted to join on a walk around the block instead of a mission for one of the most covert government agencies in the world.

“Wait? I’m not invited?” Tony sounded indignant.

Natalia was already moving to the elevator.

“It’s a stealth mission Tony.”

“What? So the walking stars and stripes get to go and I can’t? This guy has wings!”

She looked over her shoulder.

“Their suits aren’t a giant firework machine Stark. And by the way, you need to make sure Clint doesn’t do anything stupid. Coulson called me, he’s on indefinite medical leave. He injured his shoulder and the compound he was drugged with has a longer half-life than the old version A.I.M. used. He _also_ told me that he didn’t take that news so well so he’s probably aching to do something stupid. Make sure he _doesn’t_.”

“Great.” Stark pouted. “You know that is kinda asking for the impossible right?” He then called out at the closing elevator door, rising ever so slightly from his chair as he did so.

“I’m sure you’ll find a way to manage!” sounded back as she disappeared behind the closing elevator doors. Stevie grabbed his attention by clasping his shoulder.

“If _anything_ happens Buck, you know how to reach me.”

Before Bucky could say anything Sam did it for him. He took Steve by his arm, nudging him gently to the door to the stairs.

“Yeah, Yeah, he knows. You only showed him _seven_ times. Come on Cap, time to catch some bad guys.”

Steve let himself be dragged away.  After shooting Bucky a last smile that was probably supposed to be reassuring but was too awkward to be, he followed Sam down the stairs.

Bucky watched them go with mixed feelings. Knowing that Steve had his back was the one thing that kept him even slightly sane. Knowing that Sam had Steve's back in turn was a relief, despite everything, deep down he knew Sam was a good guy. Yet, it felt _wrong_ watching Steve go and not walking right beside him, making sure _he_ was the one that had Stevie’s back. But-

“So what’s _your_ favourite colour?”

Bucky froze.

Stark. His eyes shot to the man still lounging at the table, tablet back in his hands. He wasn’t looking at Bucky. Rather focused on the screen on his lap. Still, he couldn’t fool Bucky, trained as he was. He could see the way Stark shoulders tensed, how his eyes weren’t actually moving, how leaned ever so slightly away from him. 

Bucky didn’t answer. Was it weird to just walk away? Probably. 

Stark continued, not phased by the silence.

“You know, unless you want to live in Steve’s closet forever. It looks like I have to rebuild a floor anyway so-” Stark looked up and his gaze immediately focused on his hand and-”How long it’s been doing that?”

And, what? His hand clenched again. Oh, _oh_.

Crap.

His hand been spasming ever since DC. It had started with a twitch of fingers, yet slowly but steadily it had grown worse. Not that he couldn’t manage. He could manage _fine_. Stevie didn’t even know.

“You know I can probably fix it-” Stark leaned towards him and reached for his arm and-

The chair scraped loudly over the ground as Bucky shoved himself aggressively backwards, arm crossed protectively in front of his chest.

Tony, in response, sprang backwards. The chair clattered on the floor, tablet crashing next to it a second later. He had thrown his hands up in the air.

“Woah Woah!”

They stared at each other. Then, after a moment that seemed to last forever, Stark hunched in on himself.

“You know what. Forget it, you’re right. It’s stupid.” He mumbled. He pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes tightly shut as he did so. Then, he sighed loudly.

“Right.” He opened his eyes, seemingly composed again.”Right, soooo. I’m gonna see where Bruce is hanging out, that guy is was supposed to be here too you know? Team dinner and all that.” He grabbed a few containers of takeout. “Talk to J.A.R.V.I.S. if you, I don’t know, have to scrape Clint from the ground again or something like that” 

He walked backwards to the elevator.

“Don’t you know, get worried when you don’t see me and Brucie for a while. Science bros gonna chill out. Probably.”

The elevator door closed.

For a while, he didn’t move. The kitchen was eerily silent, bereft from the busy Avengers that had populated it only moments before.

“Blue.” Bucky finally answered, speaking softly he could barely hear himself. The empty kitchen didn’t answer.

 

-o0o-

 

The next day Bucky spent cooped up in his room. He fixed his own breakfast, skipped exercising. The day went by and he got lost in the documentaries Steve had saved on the television. Apparently they had gone to the moon now. Awesome. Around noon Steve texted him. The mission had just been updated, and they were going to some location outside of the city. It meant he wasn’t coming home today. It was fine. It wasn’t like Bucky couldn’t manage. 

As the day passed, he could even start to shake the uncomfortable feeling that had settled stomach last night. 

It had actually been kind of peaceful. He even decided to take a bath at the start of the evening, for once allowing himself to completely relax in the warm water letting the sound of the waterjet distract him from the thoughts in his head.

It was good.

So, of course, it couldn’t last. 

He was halfway in his pants when he heard the crash followed by the thud. He tensed.

Somebody was in their living room

Somebody who _definitely_ wasn’t supposed to be there was in the living room.

Fuck.

Of course he hadn’t stashed any of his weapons he wasn’t supposed to have in the backroom. The risk that Stevie would find them was too big. He could the panic brewing in his chest. What if it was HYDRA? What if they finally had come for him? What if-

He stopped himself. 

He had taken out enough bases in his road trip to know how to handle a HYDRA agent. If they had come for him, they would soon come to learn that that had been a _mistake._

He listened. The person that was on the other side of the door was light footed, yet with his enhanced hearing he could clearly heart the guy moving around, muttering under his breath as he did so. He drew the map of the living room out in his head, combined that with the sounds he was hearing and pinpointed the location of the intruder Then, he took a last fortifying breath.

The door slammed open, crashing against the wall with a deafening bang. 

“What the-”

With a snarl, Bucky threw himself at the figure, slamming into him and throwing them both against the wall. The guy’s head thudded against the wall and the air was knocked out of him. Before he could steady himself or draw in another breath Bucky pinned him. Metal arm pressed against the guys throat. Hard. He started to press _harder_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _oof_  
>  Is it too early to start the cliffhangers? I feel it isn't >:)
> 
> Comments and kudos keep my heart beating and my dopamine firing. Really, they're amazing. _You_ guys are amazing <3
> 
> Also, I have a Tumblr now!
> 
> See y'all at the next update!


	4. Medical Assistance Mandatory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint and Bucky crash into each other. Literally.  
> Then they oogle eachother and bicker.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh My God Guys. You're all amazing. I can't believe there are so many of you!! Sorry I let you awesome people waiting! I was on vacation, had a blast, didn't have wifi. It was tragic.

The grate clattered on the ground and Clint winced. He’d kicked the thing too hard and Natasha would have his hide if she found out he had slipped like that. But, she wasn’t here, and neither was Steve. He slipped from the vent and onto the kitchen top. He balanced for a second and then looked around. The kitchen was… different. Not that he’d been in Cap’s living space that often. But, the few times he had been here it just had… felt different. He looked at the mug next to his feet with a frown.

Just like every one of their apartments Steve also was a partial open floor, meaning that from where he was perched he could look somewhat look into the space Steve used as a living room, with half of his view being blocked off by the dining area.

Hmm.

If he was Captain America, where would he store a bow? Okay, If he was Captain America he would totally still be running around with a bow, even a stolen one. But, imagine, if he were the dull version of Captain America?

He landed on the kitchen floor with a thud. It wasn’t like anybody was home anyway. He wandered into the living room and put his hands on his hips, looking around the room.

To be honest, it was weird as hell that Steve had taken the bow to his floor and not to the locker room where-

A door flew open and before Clint could even finish his ‘what the fuck.’ a futzing freight train of a man ploughed into him. He got a flash of metal and a naked chest before his head smashed against the wall, making stars dance in his vision. Aw, concussion, no. He gasped but before he could any air into his lungs his airway was shut off by the metal arm. He got his own arm on the metal one and pushed back just far enough to choke out a few words.

“You know.” He located Barnes’ -because last time he checked nobody else in the tower had decided that prosthetics were in that summer- eyes between the still wet strands of hair. They were startlingly blue and didn’t seem to see anything. ”I’m normally not that into choking on the first date.” he gritted out and finally, finally something sparked in Barnes’ eyes. A flash of recognition shot through them before they widened in horror. Barnes practically flew off him and Clint slid gasping to the floor. His right hand briefly touched the sore spot already forming on his throat, and he grimaced. He was going to be lucky if that wasn’t going to bruise. He looked up from where he was sitting on the ground to where Barnes was standing, wearing only a pair of sweatpants. His abs were still glistening from the shower he had obviously just got out of and Clint had to force himself to drag his eyes up to Barnes’ face before the staring became indecent. Maybe he had lingered a bit too long for that already though. Barnes was looking at him with a look of confusion, horror, and anger. Internally, Clint winced. Nobody had told him, wait no, that wasn’t right. Everybody had told him the Winter Soldier was scary. However, he felt like the stories didn’t quite do justice to the real thing. Barnes’ wasn’t scary, he was intimidating, he was near petrifying, even half-naked. However, Clint’s nerve had been tested against the stares of Coulson, Fury and the damned Black Widow herself. He had plenty of practice looking composed. So, Clint wouldn’t shy away from some ancient murder machine glaring at him while he was sitting unarmed on the floor in front of him and rubbing his abused head. Apparently, his mouth wouldn’t either because before his concussed brain could stop him he was already talking.

“Normally when guys wearing so few clothes pin me against a wall I’m also wearing a lot less too, just for reference.”

Barnes eyes widened just a fraction.

“What? No-” Barnes sputtered and heh, who knew the Winter Soldier could sputter?

“What the hell are you doing here?” He then bit and Barnes was back to glaring, maybe even more fiercely than before. Apparently he didn't like sputtering.

“What am  _ I _ doing here? What are  _ you _ doing here?” Clint said. “This is Steve’s floor.” Or this was the very unlikely situation where Clint had taken the wrong turn in the vents and Barnes insisted on decorating the exact same like Steve had, which would be like, all kinds of creepy.

“Yes, and I live here asshole. Still doesn’t explain why you are here.” Barnes crossed his arms in front of his chest and Clint was momentarily distracted by the way Barnes still wet shoulder’s shimmered as the muscles moved and really it was unfair that the guy was wet at all. In the dimly lit room, he could only faintly make out the lines of scarring that were covering the left side of his chest and shoulder.

And, oh. That made sense actually. He felt rather sheepish, thinking about it. If Barnes was sharing a floor with somebody, it, of course, would be with Steve.

“I eh, got lost looking for the toilet?”

Barnes stared at him.

Yeah, he wouldn’t believe that one either.

Clint sighed and carefully worked himself upright. Barnes took a step closer, which Clint resolutely ignored. He could stand perfectly fine up on his own. One mother-henning-super soldier was enough.

“Look.” He said, wiping some none existent dust from his sweats.”I’m sorry I broke in, I didn’t know that you were crashing on Steve’s couch. I’m just here for my bow, and I’ll be out of your hair. It’s just I’m kinda having a day and I need my bow.”

“No.”

And, well that wasn’t the answer Clint had been expecting. He had thought maybe the guy would just kick him out, or if not that would just ignore him and go back to the bathroom to dress himself. A resolute ‘no’ wasn’t on that list. It was his turn to stare.

“What.”

Barnes rolled his eyes, like Clint was the stupid one.

“You are going to medical.” He said, just as unmoving as that ‘no’ had been.

Clint creased his brow and glared, irritation sparking in his chest. In his life, a lot of people had been rolling their eyes at Clint, nowadays, he didn’t like any of them.

“What. No, fuck you I’m not going to medical.”

“Like hell you aren’t.”

It was at that moment that Clint decided that Steve had a horrible taste in friends. Why did everybody insist that Clint spent every moment of his life in medical? Barnes still hadn’t moved from his spot and Clint glanced at the door. As he if he sensed what he was thinking Barnes took a step to the right, effectively blocking the most obvious means of escape.

Clint narrowed his eyes and continued glaring. Barnes didn't’ seem to be bothered.

“Why would I need to go to medical?”

“Wha- Because I attacked you! Because you smashed your head against the wall! Because I nearly strangled you!”

Barnes had finally uncrossed his arms, moving them rapidly as he started pacing to underline his sudden agitation, an agitation that Clint didn’t think was completely caused by his worry about his health. Huh. He forced himself to relax a bit.

“Oh. Don’t worry about that. Happens all the time actually.”

Barnes stopped pacing.

“It- what?”

“Yeah.” Clint shoved his hands in his pockets and started to rock on his feet. Suddenly the ceiling was very interesting. He continued talking.

“My landlord- former landlord actually, didn’t like me all that much. Still doesn’t actually, but, we’re dealing with that.”

“Your landlord doesn’t like you, and that’s why you get strangled all the time”

God Clint hadn’t known Barnes could sound even more incredulous.

“Former landlord.” He corrected.”And I said we’re dealing with it.”

Barnes dragged a hand through his face. His right hand. Clint couldn’t imagine the same thing didn’t hurt if the hand was made from metal. He took in a deep breath.

“Okay.” he says.”Let’s talk another time about why your landlord beats you up. However, now? Now we’re going to medical.”

“I’m not-”

“You owe me.”

“I don’t owe you shit.”

Clint didn’t like owing people things. In the circus debts and dues mostly ended him with him being beat or worse. Most of the time the price of any favour was higher than what the gift had been worth. It had taken him long enough to trust Coulson, and by extension, SHIELD to not stab him in the back for fishing him out of the proverbial ditch where they had found him.

So, even nowadays, Clint was very careful he didn’t owe anybody anything. Especially not strangers, and by all means, Barnes was still a stranger.

“Oh no? Because I still remember that I had to scrape you off the floor and carry you to medical two days ago.”

Clint, despite his irritation, winced. Yeah, he had kinda… forgot about that. Shit should he have sent Barnes a thank you bouquet? ‘Thank you for not letting me disintegrate on the kitchen floor. Love, Barton.’ Oh man if he had been supposed to do that he had a lot of cards to write. Barnes hadn’t been the only one to do that particular favour for him.

“Uh. Yeah… Thanks for that, by the way… wasn’t my finest moment.”

“Hm, I figured.”

Clint rubbed the nape of his neck, suddenly at a loss of words. He just wanted his bow, man, shoot a few rounds to lose a bit of steam before trying to talk with Cap. Now he just needed to add startling-his-best-friend-buddy-pall-forever-in-attacking-him to the list. That conversation was going to suck, even more than it already would.

Barnes seemed to take pity on him.

“Look,” He said in a one that wasn’t yet quite friendly but at least not as exasperated as before. “let’s just go to medical, we’ll get your head checked, and then I’ll help you find your bow.”

That wasn’t a great deal to be honest. Clint was pretty sure that he knew the tower better than Steve did and sure as hell knew it better than Barnes did. There was no nook where Steve could hide the thing where he wouldn’t find it, and no lock that would keep a Barton out.

But, on the other hand, Barnes didn’t seem to be budging on the medical thing, and Clint was pretty sure he currently wasn't bleeding, so they could be in and out in like, thirty minutes. Meaning that in about forty minutes Clint could be out on the range and finally shoot his worries away.

“Okay fine.” He gave in. “We’ll go to medical, which totally is overreacting and totally because you are being difficult about it, and then we’ll get my bow.”

“Sure.” Barnes said easily at the same time as something that could pas as amusement passed over his face. “Let’s do that.” he said, like this thing wasn’t plan to begin with.

 

-o0o-

 

Barnes followed him to medical. Not that he hadn’t made clear that he wouldn’t, it just surprised him that he actually did. So, together the entered the pristine white floor Tony had set-up after Stark Tower had become Avengers tower and thus the main base of their operations. Despite still regularly visiting the SHIELD medical, Clint had become well acquainted with this one too. It was a combination between a lab and a hospital. Medical professionals and other people who had spent way too much time studying were on call and did research on other projects to forward the medical field, and when one of the Avengers were injured they quickly transitioned back into their doctor roles to fix them up. Clint imagined it was a pretty sweet gig if you were into, like, studying.

The nurse that took him in was quite surprised to hear that Clint came by for his check-up. That was a lie of course because Clint rarely went to check-ups, but he wasn’t going to tell her he had smashed his head against a wall, again. When Barnes heard the lie he had grumbled something, but luckily he hadn’t protested any further. Seemed like he wasn't too hot on talking to nurses either.

Barnes had lost some of his cool and hovered tensely behind him as he talked to the nurse. When he sat on the hospital bed waiting for the doctor to arrive Barnes positioned himself in one of the corners of the room, back against the wall and one of his arms crossed again, and Clint got a strange sense of deja vu he couldn’t quite explain, like he had seen the exact same image before. Huh. Maybe it reminded him to the time when he had woken up with Fury lurking at his bedside. They both had the same kind of menacing air around them, only, when Fury was scowling like that, ‘hot’ hadn’t been the way Clint would describe it. But when Barnes was doing it… It kinda was. Still, he didn’t seem to be enjoying himself so Clint tore off a little bit of paper that was spread over the bed for sanitary purposes, balled it up into a tiny ball and flicked it at Barnes nose, hitting his target perfectly.

Barnes flinched and his scowl turned into a glare, a glare which he was now directing at Clint to be exact. Clint ignored the shiver, and not the bad kind, it sent down his spine and just raised his chin a bit.

“Keep looking like that and your face is going to get stuck.”

For a moment he looked surprised, for a short and glorious second, but then the scowl was back, but some of the intensity was now missing.

“You sound just like Steve.” Barnes scoffed, and Clint laughed. The sound seemed too loud in the stillness of the hospital room and Barnes flinched.

“Me?” Clint asks, the laugh still ringing in his words. “Man and here I am thinking you’re the one sounding like Steve.”

Barnes narrowed his eyes and huffed.

“I’m nothing like Stevie. That punk is always running off doing stupid shit and getting hurt. Reckless little shit.” He grumbles and Clint grins. Oh man, if it is that easy to set him off into complaining, then this is going to be fun.

He had already opened his mouth to tell Barnes all about the ways he resembles Steve when the doctor walked in and ruined all the fun. So, instead, he winked at Barnes before plastering the best ‘nothing-is-wrong-doc-really’ grin on his face. He was now looking at the doctor in front of him, and that is why he missed the startled look on Barnes’s face. It was only there for a second before it settled back into the ever-present scowl. However, this time, it didn’t quite reach his the eyes.

Not that Clint noticed. Clint was busy with the doctor. He knew the guy quite well actually, he reminded him a bit of Bruce. Except that his bedside manner wasn’t… that great? Doctor Harrington didn’t see you as a patient, he saw you as a case, a case that needed to be solved. If anybody would ever have to tell him some seriously bad news, he wanted doctor Harrington to be the last guy to do it. However, for just regular check-ups where you wanted to get in and out, doctor Harrington was great. He went through his repertoire of questions like a smoothly oiled machine, intonation never changing but occasionally humming noncommittally.

“You’ve been nauseous?”

“No.”

“You’ve vomited?”

“No.”

“Dizzy?”

“No”

“Balance issues?”

“No”

“Vision issues?”

“Never.”

He flashed a grin, and out of the corner of his eyes he could see Bucky roll his eyes again, the corner of his mouth had twitched. Hell yeah that had been practically a smile. Score.

“-nt Barton?”

“Huh?”

Oh. Doctor Harrington had been talking. Right. He was now glancing at him, eyes just poking out from his clipboard.

“I was asking where the new lump on the back of your head had come from?”

If Clint hadn’t gone through years of extensive training at SHIELD his hand would’ve flown out and touched the aforementioned bump on his head forming where he crashed against the wall. However, Clint went through that training and he knew very well how to look not guilty. Even better, he knew how to lie.

“Oh yeah that was from this morning. Lucky, my dog, you see, jumped me this morning while I was still sitting on the bed, so I bumped my head against the headboard.

“Must’ve been a pretty hard ‘bump’.”

Clint just continued smiling, leaning back a little and ignoring the way Barnes was staring with an intensity that would’ve made a lesser man squirm.

“Man, you must’ve never encountered an enthusiastic retriever mutt when it wants breakfast.

They can be a bit much.”

“Hmmm. So I take it that your… dog, is responsible for the bruising on your neck as well? Yes?”

The next time he saw doctor Harrington he would regret what he said next. He would remember the words at the exact moment the doctor’s eyes briefly glanced over his neck before returning to the set of stitches he was setting in his thigh. However, at this moment? Clint didn’t even hesitate.

“Auto asphyxiation.”

The doctor blinked but otherwise remained staring at his clipboard. He marked something with his pen.

“Hmmm.”

He glanced for a second at Barnes but then the doctor's gaze quickly retreated back to his clipboard. He marked something else with his pen. For a second Clint thought doctor wasn’t believing him, or worse, would call security. But then he finished with whatever he was writing and he looked up.

“Well, agent Barton.” Harrington turned his back to him, filing away the documents on his clipboard in one of the file cabinets. “I don’t see any signs of another serious concussion, or explicit worsening from the last, despite that, you may suffer from a headache the next few days. I can prescribe you a pain medication for that-”

“Nope!” Clint was already sliding off from the bed. “Not necessary, but thanks though.” He didn’t want to stay in medical a second longer than he had though. The last few months he had spent enough time surrounded by the stinging smell of rubbing alcohol for a lifetime, and even before that he had spent enough time in medical for like five lifetimes.

“Agent Barton! Before you go I would like to talk about your shoulder.”

Maybe that were the only words that could’ve halted him in his tracks. That, or if the doctor had suddenly said ‘you’re pregnant.’ he would’ve hung around for an explanation for that one too. He needed his shoulder dammit. So, begrudgingly, he turned around.

“Yeah, doc?”

“The file I got from SHIELD-” -were the SHIELD doctors and Avengers medical team passing around his medical file around like it was a freaking love note or something?- “mentions bruising of the shoulder? Would you mind If I take a look at it?”

For a matter of fact, Clint did mind. Why did he have to injure his shoulder of all things? He had removed the splint on his fingers yesterday, they were fine already. The rest of his body? Still aching, but that was more the wary pain of overexertion and the pain of bruises healing. But his shoulder? His shoulder seemed to have suffered quite a hit. On his little jaunt through the vents he had even tried to use it as little as possible. After all, it wasn’t like anybody would’ve noticed in the complete dark. If it had been his ankle acting up, Clint would’ve happily hobbled right out of there. However, as stated earlier, it was his shoulder.

“It’s fine.” He said, and even he didn’t know if he was talking about his shoulder or the fact that doctor Harrington wanted to look at it.

Nevertheless, he was already removing his sweatshirt as he walked back to the bed. He very, very carefully made sure to move as normal as possible, freaking shoulder be damned and thus was quite distracted as he pulled the hoodie over his head. He threw the shirt and the bed and fiddled with his BTE, the thing had got caught on his clothing and had moved, and still fiddling he looked up and he suddenly locked eyes with Barnes. Or, he would’ve, if it weren’t for the fact that Barnes wasn’t looking at his face, but at his chest. But then he raised his eyes and when he noticed that Clint was staring back he quickly looked away. Before.

Clint could figure out if his cheeks always had been that rose-tinted Barnes pushed himself from the wall.

“I’ll go.” He said, his voice rougher than it had been all evening, before damn near power walking out of the room. It was a good thing that the door was one that you had to push to open because he was pretty sure that if the door had been pull that Barnes would’ve just pushed straight through the door nonetheless.

He looked down at his chest what had been so interesting. There was the bruising of his shoulder, already reduced to a faint yellow and crawling to his chest where- aw, scarring, no. He was absolutely covered by scars, big ones, like those left behind from a whip, small one, a nail being driven in his skin, exciting ones, like those he got from being electrocuted, and straight ones, those he got from his surgeries. However, on his left, just under the clavicula, the skin came together in a gnarly knotted scar. It was where Trickshot had planted his arrow as a farewell gift. The wound had got infected before he could find the help he needed, by that time it was already too late to save the skin that surrounded the wound. Not that Clint had been worried about the scarring turning ugly when the wound finally closed, no, he had been very worried about outrunning the demons still yapping at his heels.

Maybe it was because the scarring was at his left side? Maybe Barnes was self-conscious about his own scarring? He shook the insecurity of him. Whatever Barnes deal was with scarring, that was his own freaking problem.

The doctor coughed and Clint was back to the present. Right, he wanted to take a look at his shoulder.

In the end, the examination was not as bad as he had thought it to be. It didn’t hurt his shoulder as much as he had expected and both he and the doctor was pleasantly surprised.

“Still.” The doctor said. “I would advise you to not shoot your bow for another week, or you’re risking inflammation of the bursa.”

Clint didn’t know what a bursa was. What he did know is that he didn’t care. Risking inflammation? It meant that the thing wasn’t inflamed now, ergo, he could use his bow. Simple as that.

“Yeah I’ll be sure to do that doc, thanks for the party! See you around!”

“Agent Barton I must-”

“Thanks!” He just called over his shoulder. He had done good. But now? Now he was done. He’d played nice alright. He only had to get up to Steve’s apartment and hope that Barnes would still be willing to help him look. He hoped he would. Rather, he helped him look for the freaking bow than to pin him against the wall wearing only some loose fitting sweats. But, no, that part had been fine. The part where he got the life choked out of him, that was the thing he was protesting against. Wait shouldn’t he also be protesting about the being pinned-

“You injured your shoulder?”

It was only because he was besties with the best assassin the red room had ever created was that the only reaction he gave was an inaudible intake of breath. He didn’t even flinch. Still, judging by the way Barnes was smirking it didn’t matter how much jump scare training Natasha had given him, because Barnes still noticed.

The guy was leaning to the wall opposite to the door Clint had just barged out off. He was half-hidden by the shadow of a vending machine the doctors must’ve smuggled in, because he doubted that Tony’s interior designer dealt with something as ‘tacky’ as vending machines. He had his arms crossed, one foot planted against the wall instead of on the ground. Standing like that, in his sweats and grey shirt he had plucked off from the spot where it had been thrown over Steve’s couch before practically shoving Clint out of his apartment. Smirking like that he looked a whole different from the guy in the grainy pictures in the SHIELD had of him on file. He looked more like the guy you’d find in a smokey hallway of some kind of rocker bar, making eyes at anybody he’d fancy. It was only when Barnes raised his eyebrow that Clint realized he had been asked a question.

“My shoulder?”

The foot he had planted against the wall dropped to the ground and Barnes uncrossed his arms. He straightened and it was for the first time that Clint noticed he was actually longer than the so-called deadliest assassin on earth. Neat.

“You ever not gonna repeat what I say”

Despite what many people thought, Clint wasn’t actually a child, so no, he did not parrot that line immediately back at Barnes. He didn’t even have to bite his tongue, and even if he did, there was no way anybody could prove that.

“Well, maybe when you start asking questions that aren’t so riveting and world breaking that don’t need to be said twice for the good of the world, maybe then I will stop repeating them.”

“Hmm.” Barnes looked at him, properly looked at him. From head to toe and then dragging his eyes up again. Maybe, if they were at that rocking club he had been thinking about earlier the look would’ve had a different meaning. However, they weren’t at a bar. They were in the stark lit corridor of medical next to a vending machine. Still, he didn’t quite know what the look meant, and before he could figure it what it meant something changed in his face and he turned away.

“Come on, let’s look for your bow.”

 

-o0o-

 

“Steve really hid my bow under your bed? Are you like, Captain America’s ultimate guard dog?”

They were standing in Steve’s spare bedroom, Barnes standing next to the bed where he had fished his bow under out off. It was the most stupid hiding place Clint could think of, yet, there his bow was. Hidden under the bed like it some half-assed hidden Christmas present.

“Steve didn’t put it there. I did.”

Clint tore his eyes from his bow and looked at Barnes, who looked more smug than he had any right to be.

“You asshole, you know where it was the whole time?” Dammit, he could’ve been at the range an if he just ignored Barnes and went looking on his own. But instead of doing that, Barnes had practically frog marched him to medical instead.

“Why you’d even put it there.”

Barnes shrugged, but as he stepped around the bed he avoided Clint’s eyes.

“Didn’t know where else to put it. I went back for it after I dropped you off at medical. Didn’t seem like something you’d want to be lying around.”

“Like hell it isn’t. Give it.” Clint was already reaching out to it, like he was reaching for a baby that had been passed around the relative circle and now finally back to mommy.

“No.”

Clint froze and Barnes took pulled the bow back.

“Excuse me?”

“I’ve known you for like, three hours total Barton and I already know that if I give you the bow you going to go to the range and fuck up your shoulder even more.”

Clint opened his mouth but Barnes cut him off.

“And don’t even pretend that isn’t what you’re planning to do. I know that look from when Steve was all like ‘no, i don’t need to stay inside even though the flowers are blooming Buck. It’s fine.’

“I don’t care that you were Steve’s nurse. That is my bow and you have no right to keep it.”

“You gonna go complain to Steve about it?”

“You're just scared because you think I'm a better shot than you, even with a fucked up shoulder.”

“You wish.”

“Fight me Barnes.”

“The point of this is not aggravating your shoulder.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“I don’t care.”

“No way I’m convincing you to give it back?”

“No.”

“Okay, before I'm gonna fight you for it, wanna come pet my dog instead?”

“What?”

   
---  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the people who are sticking to this story! I'm going for a slowburn-ish something so buckle up y'all. Next chapter, more Lucky! More bickering!
> 
> You're all amazing, if you got any thoughts or just wanna say hi you'd make my month <3 Kudos and comments are my life blood.


End file.
